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The greats
of comedy history have always subverted norms. The Marx Brothers
brought a certain brand of anarchy into polite society. Monty
Python's Flying Circus held their "Upper Class Twit of the
Year" contest. The Kids in the Hall and Upright Citizens Brigade
refused to do any sort of impersonations or direct commentary
on modern issues, challenging the idea of what was expected
of a comedy troupe. Hopefully Michael Ian Black will get his
name celebrated in a similar fashion for following this comedy
subversion further down the rabbit hole. Black, in his current
comedy group Stella (and to a lesser extent, his old, unfairly
forgotten group, the State), further subverts norms by making
his performances not rely upon standard comedy conventions
of set up and delivery, but rather a constant stream of amusingly
ridiculous statements and actions. He has taken "nonsensical
dicking around" to a new plateau.
While
"dicking around" may suggest his style is without wit or even
a point, this is thankfully not the case. What Black excels
at is taking conventions and insightfully tweaking them, turning
up the situation's inherent idiocy (and okay, also some dicking
around). With his new book, My Custom Van, Michael
Ian Black revels in that same habit of engaging in willful
and knowing stupidity while maintaining a smart edge.
For instance,
this book has an essay called "Why I Used a Day-Glo Marker
to Color My Dick Yellow," which starts with a quote from Georg
Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel explaining that "nothing great in
the world has been accomplished without passion," illustrating
Black's penchant for mixing intelligence and extreme senselessness.
However, the book would work much better if these forces were
better balanced more often.
Thankfully,
a good portion of the book's essays straddle this dichotomy
well, giving the readers a jolt of whimsy without insulting
their intelligence. Pieces like "Vampires—Good For the
Economy?" combine a novel premise with thoughtful commentary.
For instance, explains Black, cape sales would skyrocket because
of vampires, and garlic farmers would experience quite a boon.
"Although vampires do not kill based on socio-economic status,"
he cautions, "we expect the poor to be disproportionately
affected, since they will be the least able to protect themselves,
as well as the most likely to be wandering outside alone at
night. We are calling this phenomenon 'the vampire tax.' Look
for Democrats to capitalize."
The essay
"Using the Socratic Method to Determine What It Would Take
for Me to Voluntarily Eat Dog Shit for the Rest of My Life"
may be the highlight of the entire book and certainly embodies
the idiocy/intelligence combination. Asking himself a series
of questions like "Would I rather eat a scoop of dog shit
or a piece of bacon?," "What if it was either a thimbleful
of dog shit or ten pounds of bacon?," and "What if the bacon
was made from people?," Black allows the reader to follow
him on his musings down that line of questioning until the
inevitable conclusion. The essay reads like he's writing it
on the spot as he follows his own logic, with no editing.
A fan of his would probably not be surprised if this were
the case.
However,
some of the essays fall hard on the side of pure idiocy, the
intelligence fails to deliver, or the dicking around can become
oppressive. "Some DJ Names I've Been Considering" and "Good
Skiing Form" feel like tossed off blog entries and are largely
disappointing when taking up space inside a purchased book.
Elsewhere, essays like "Icky," with its eccentric millionaire
narrator who gets run out of the DMV while wearing a blonde
wig and football pads, simply seem like a sketch that was
never finished, an attempt to get by on pure inanity. Maybe
it may have worked if it were actually a part of Stella's
repertoire, considering Black's ability to bring subtle facial
expressions, physical comedy, and excellent delivery into
the equation. Written, however, it feels like it's filling
up space in an already slim book.
That's
not to say that all the purely idiotic essays aren't worth
reading. "Taco Party," for instance, charms with its mindless
gung-ho devotion to a certain breed of get-together (told
with hilariously gratuitous swearing): "Fair warning: If you
don't like AC/DC, stuffing your fat face full of tacos, playing
fucking taco piñata, swimming in crystal-clear, taco fart-free
waters, and waving around fucking Kentucky bluegrass sparklers,
then stay home and suck on your grandma's fucking tit, because
this is not the party for you."
My
Custom Van has some truly hilarious moments, and Michael
Ian Black is a really funny gentleman. The fifty essays contained
within this book will often induce serious laughter as they
explore pop culture with the "why not?" experimentation of
a child (albeit a super-genius child who is capable of picking
apart convention down to the skeleton). It's difficult not
to love Black's taking on Lewis Black's hatred of candy corn,
the cliché of the football halftime coach pep-talk, and David
Sedaris's near-universal acclaim. However, the book reads
rather quickly, and the hit-to-miss ratio is a bit disappointing,
considering Black's track record. Fans will find much to love,
but they may wish to wait until it's out in paperback.
(August,
2008)
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